The Tower
by PlainRebeccaJane
Summary: Harry finds himself in a Tower. He falls in love. He never wants to leave. Until one day, he does. Non-graphic slash.


A/N: This is the first thing I've written in 10 years. It just wouldn't leave my brain. This may be all there is to it, but I know what part two would be if I get to it. Slash, nothing graphic.

When he came to it was in a large room. Cold, stone, circular. But he was untied and unharmed, laid on a soft bed of fur and silk. Experience had taught him that the possibility of death was highest when he woke up chained to stone floors, so in comparison this didn't seem quite so sinister. But his head was woozy like he'd downed a bottle of Firewhisky and his magic seemed just out of his grasp. He had no idea what he was doing before he ended up here. He had no idea where here was.

Another standard day for Harry Potter then.

Harry sat up slowly, wincing, making sure he moved his head as little as humanly possible. He was no stranger to a bad hangover, but this really was taking the piss a bit. Every movement threatened to make him throw up all over the bed, and the feel of his bare feet touching the freezing stone floor wasn't really helping. He suddenly realised he was shirtless.

Ice washed through him as he noticed his wand was not attached to his arm. Had someone found it? Did they know what it was? Harry was long passed the days of needing a wand for every little spell, but the Elder Wand was dangerous, and keeping it away from those who sought it was a continual part of his life. He felt a sudden warmth against his thigh and sighed in relief. His battle trousers had a concealed holster for the Elder Wand, invisible to any who didn't know it was there. Strange though, that it was there and not on his arm. He obviously hadn't been anticipating any great danger. And yet here he was, in a room that wouldn't look out of place in the Middle Ages. Even Hogwarts had carpet.

Then the door opened.

* * *

At first Harry had been suspicious of the one who found him. It wasn't really personal, he just tended to be suspicious of most people at this point. But the man had been patient, and kind. He told Harry tales about Middle Earth, and didn't question his lack of knowledge about things that even a 5 year old would probably know. If he suspected that Harry wasn't from around here he didn't let on, apparently enjoying his questions and rapt attention. He brought him books to read and paintings of the world outside, new foods to try and wine so sweet it hurt his teeth. He painted a picture of a beautiful land, of forests and wildlife and freedom. But such things never last, and so was the case with Middle Earth. War had come, and left only devastation behind. This was why, two months into his stay, Harry had yet to leave the tower.

In the beginning he had asked to, curious to see the land that surrounded him, this new world he was in. He had bargained and cajoled, tried to sneak down the winding stairs. But the fair haired man was just as persuasive, soft words explaining the danger of the outside, begging him to stay inside where he was safe. Is my company not enough? He would ask Harry, and Harry would feel his heart twist and ache at the sadness, and agree to put his curiosity at rest for a while. As time moved on, the thought of a world outside the tower seemed like a dream, and if at times he thought his circumstances strange this was soon assuaged with sweet words and soft hands. And if he ever felt a twinge of desire to leave, his mind soon turned to other thoughts, like a muggle stumbling upon a dragon's nest, and suddenly overcome with something important they'd forgotten to do.

* * *

Harry realised early on that there was no true day here, the sun forever set. It sometime rose slightly higher than usual, casting a low light over the arid land, but it didn't last long, as if some darkness dragged it back down. Even time seemed strange here. Without the sun there was no way to count the days, and he had this strange feeling that he was sleeping for hours upon hours, or else his waking hours were passing at an accelerated speed. There was nothing to help count the seasons that he could see through the tiny arrow slit, only a black sky over a black land, and mountains jagged in the sky line. It was enough to cause twinges of unease when he thought about the kind of man who would live alone in this land, and the tower walls would start to close in on him, leaving him struggling to breath. But he'd always feel a hand stroking through his hair, lips on his forehead, before he let himself be led back to bed and the drowsy bliss of his lover. It would be days or weeks before his thoughts would stray again.

* * *

Despite his contentment, and the unadulterated warmth in his heart whenever his lover spoke, Harry hadn't told him about his magic. He couldn't explain why if he'd been asked, but it was as if a little voice in the back of his head just stopped him every time. The voice sounded strangely like Hermione, so he thought it best to obey it. His wand remained hidden in his trousers, his ring was concealed on his finger, and his cloak was disguised as nothing but an eccentric fashion statement, never moving from the closet where he'd placed it at the start of his stay. And it was surprisingly easy to go back to living like a muggle. He'd never been one for using his magic for every little thing, and his magic itself felt sleepy and quiet. Perhaps it had also had enough of fighting and war. Perhaps the easy life of reading and sleeping and loving was enough for it also. The Hermione voice scoffed at this, but it was muffled at the back of his mind as if covered with piles of fur blankets. There was no room for suspicion in Harry's mind any more, no room for stubbornness and fight. It had all been washed away by his happiness.

That is, until he saw the Orcs.

* * *

He didn't think he'd ever seen something so disgusting. Not even in his deepest nightmares had he created a creature with such deformities he recoiled on sight. Saliva dripped from it's slathering mouth as it leered at Harry, rolling bulging eyes somehow looking him up and down. The fact that it was humanoid in nature made it even worse, as Harry couldn't help but wonder if it had been human once at the start of it's ancestry. And either way, who would create something so vile? There was a deep knowing in his chest that something so horrific, so terrifying, did not occur naturally in the world. It stepped towards him, reaching out a grasping hand, and ran a yellowed, jagged fingernail down his cheek.

And Harry could feel his power well up inside him, as if a switch had been flicked and he'd suddenly remembered that he was a Wizard of no small power, thank you very much. And with that power came courage and a clear mind, as if a fog had been pushed out and all the questions he should have asked filled its space. What was he doing here? Why couldn't he leave? And why, when he'd shared a bed with his lover for so long, did the thought of him feel like ants under his skin?

"Take your mangy hand off him."

His lover stood in the doorway, his once perfect visage so twisted with rage that Harry wondered how he'd ever thought him beautiful. He wore black armour, sharp and solid, of a kind that Harry had only seen in films. And only ever on the bad guy. The malice that surrounded him was almost visible, and Harry could feel it licking against his skin, making his magic flex and hiss in return. He reigned it in, unwilling to compromise his secret in a moment that was becoming ever more precarious.

The deformed creature stepped back, whining and sniveling.

"Forgive me master, just looking, just looking. So pretty, he is. Forgive your servant."

The words 'master' and 'servant' and the subservient behaviour reminded Harry of a Dark Lord he once knew. His mind started to draw parallels, the handsome face and charming tongue, the self righteousness and possessiveness. He couldn't understand how he'd missed it before. Something must have shown on his face, for his lover - who previously looked like he was about to rip off the creature's limbs with his bare hands - gestured for it to just leave instead. It scurried out ungraciously and the door slammed shut behind it.

"Harry, my sweet one, don't be afraid. My anger was only out of fear for you. The shock at seeing an Orc so close to you, I've never felt such terror. Let me touch you, let me make sure you're okay."

He made to move towards him, but Harry put a hand up to stop him, made sure not to touch him.

"What is an Orc? And why is it in the tower? You said no one else lives here."

"Nobody does dear one. They aren't allowed in here, they know that. You should have never had to see one, never."

"But what are they? What does it do?" Harry was pretty sure there could be no good explanation for consorting with a creature that oozed evil and pus in equal amounts, but he'd also felt his lover's power for the first time. Crushing and malignant and great. This was not a power he wished to fight against one on one.

"Do you really wish to know my sweet? It is a terrible tale, and not one I would wish to haunt your dreams. You're far too precious to me."

It suddenly grated on him, being spoken to like he was something fragile and delicate. Somehow it hadn't bothered him before, and Harry added that to the pile of strange things. But Harry could play the damsel if that was his role in this, stay nonthreatening and reliant.

"I need to know, please. Having seen it, I need to understand how it came to be"

His lover held out his hand, and though everything about him wanted to recoil away, Harry knew he had no choice but to take it. As soon as his hand was enclosed Harry felt the fog encroaching on the edges of his thoughts, felt his suspicion ease and his defensiveness soften. This time, however, he was expecting it. Now he could recognise its effects, almost like the Imperious Curse, so insidious you don't realise something's infected your brain. He pushed it out as much as he thought he could without causing suspicion, and allowed Sauron to lead him upstairs.

* * *

"I was once a great power in this world Harry. My deeds were known throughout the land, Kings and Lords all welcomed me in their halls. These were the days when the world was good, and peace was plenty. But still there remained inequality and disease, and it pained me to see it. Then came the days of the Dark Lord Morgoth, who desired dominion over all the land. I, in my youthful folly, was taken in by his lies and deceit. I believed we were creating a world of order and equality, and I will admit that in my enthusiasm I missed the signs that all was not as it seemed. By the time I realised, it was too late and I could not escape him, though I tried.

I will not burden you with the horrors of that war. Suffice to say that after great loss Morgoth was defeated by the Elves, and his armies scattered. Despite my pleas, and evidence that I had suffered greatly under Morgoth's reign, I was exiled to this blackened land, and others who had served him unwillingly were sent to suffer with me, and cursed to have their bodies forever reflect the ugliness of Morgoth. A fitting punishment some felt, but these were not evil men Harry. They were weak men, poor men, many were children. The elves did not want their perfection marred, and so all who did not match them have slowly been banished.

Not content for us to waste away in this dead wasteland of Mordor, they now seek to war upon me. They fear my power and my righteous vengeance, they fear that I will no longer be content to suffer for the sins of one greater than I."

In that moment Harry could see that he was right. His cause was righteous, and vengeance was his due. How cruel, to banish him here when he had made a mistake. How horrid, to condemn children to life as an Orc. He knew how easy it was to get sucked in by people of power, had seen it happen to his schoolmates during the war. And almost all of them repented in the end. All the time he was thinking these things, his eyes were fixated on the golden ring on his beloved's finger.

* * *

As more time went by Sauron spent longer away from home. Harry filled his time with maps and books, learning everything he could about this land. Sometimes Sauron brought him home books that he found on his travels, always slightly stained and worn. He also brought back jewelry, substitutes, he said, until Harry would have a ring that matched his own. The ring Harry already had would pulse on his finger, a warning that Harry couldn't figure out. Despite the lack of things to do, he did not feel bored and he did not miss his friends. Strange really, but not something he would dwell on for long.

Harry remained content in his tower for quite some time. He seemed to spend a lot of time sleeping, his hair disproportionately long when he awoke, his beard always requiring shaving. Sauron told him not to be so concerned about it, and so concerned he was not. So much time went by that Harry almost forgot who he was before his days in the tower, his previous life never spoken of. And then one day, whilst he was reorganising his closet for the millionth time, he spotted his cloak, the one he'd brought to Middle Earth with him. It was in a ball on the closet floor, buried under other things. He was overcome with a desire to put it on, and so he did.

Two things then came to pass. His cloak, ring and wand flooded him with the power of the Master of Death, reminding him that he had a greater destiny than playing Rapunzel. And his cloak, strong enough to shield him from Death himself, had no problem shielding him from Sauron's control. He remembered the last time he came back to himself, when he first saw an Orc. He remembered all the things that should have concerned him. He remembered his friends now, he was sure, long since dead.

He knew he had to leave. Now.

* * *

Harry didn't stick around to take anything with him. There was no knowing when Sauron would return, and he didn't feel like going toe to toe with him right now. Harry felt like he'd awakened from a hibernation, and his magic was groggy and irritated. It may not be enough to win him a fight, but it should be enough to escape.

He made his way down the tower, his magic opening doors he'd never been through, The lower he got the more Orcs he saw, and he realised that something must have been stopping sound entering his section of the tower. The further he got, the more industrial it sounded, ancient machinery turning and hordes of orcs working together towards some nefarious purpose. Still he descended, never stopping, never looking behind, and the entrance was in sight and so close when he heard it.

Screaming. Loud, piercing, echoing. Begging, pleading, different voices, screaming again. Harry knew the sounds of torture, and it pulled at him. Yet his escape was so close, and he feared what Sauron would do if he found him escaping. He sighed, he steeled himself, and he descended into the depths, leaving the entrance behind him.

* * *

There were Orcs everywhere, all as revolting as each other. Fighting, snarling, working - though to what end Harry couldn't figure out. At the lowest level though, there were not so many. Evidently torture wasn't actually too high on their list of priorities today. A corpse lay on the floor, blood still seeping, fresh out of chains. Five cells he could see were occupied and locked, one was open, its inhabitant instead strung up against a wall, surrounded by four Orcs. It looked like a young man, with hair as long as Harry's and stern features. But as he snuck closer he could make out pointed ears, and he knew this was one of the Elves that Sauron detested so deeply. He remembered the way they'd been described to him, haughty and arrogant and selfish. It stayed his hand for a moment. But then he pushed all thoughts of Sauron's influence aside, raised his hand, pulled on that drowsy power and threw a multiplied stunner with a quick Stupefy. The Orcs dropped to the floor and when he removed his Invisibility Cloak, all eyes were on Harry.

He went first to the elf strung up on the wall, who hissed in pain but looked at him with defiance.

"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you. Let me get you down."

He searched the unconscious Orcs with a grimace, finding the key to the chains. Harry undid the left cuff first, quickly throwing his arm around the elf's waist to support him. When he had a good grip he undid the second cuff, and grunted under the full weight of the elf, slowly lowering him to sit on the ground. He could feel the others in the cells watching him, and knew they were likely elves too.

He looked around once more for the keys to the cells, not wanting to waste magic on Alohomora unnecessarily.

"What are you?"

He turned back to the elf on the floor, who was looking at him with suspicion.

" You are clean and unharmed, and so could not have traveled the harsh terrain of Mordor to get here. And I do not believe an Istari would willingly enter Barad-dur. You are not an unwilling captive. Which makes you a servant of the enemy."

"Would a servant of Sauron have released you from those chains? I understand your caution, but this is not the time for introductions." Harry turned back to searching for the keys.

"And how do we know that this is not a trick? A sweet diversion and the illusion of safety, all the better to lower our guard."

"You don't," Harry agreed, "but I'm not sure you could be in a worse position than the one you're already in."

The elf evidently disagreed with that statement and went to speak further, but he was interrupted by an elf in one of the cells.

"Ho na- foeir Haldir. Ennas na- onlui gurth hi."

The elf stared intently at Harry, making him feel exceedingly uncomfortable, before seemingly realising that he didn't have any other option.

"Release them, and we will follow you. You betray us at your peril"

Harry, having spent decades surrounded by the malice of Mordor without even realising, found himself rather unbothered by the threat. Especially since the elf looked not much older than Harry himself did.

After the elves were released they searched the dungeon for their weapons, finding some piled up in a corner, others on the bodies of the downed Orcs. Harry picked up an Orc sword, which was crude but would work as well as any other. He had learnt to fight with steel during the war. There were some creatures that were near impervious to magic, and he'd been one of the main advocates for learning non magical ways to defend themselves.

"Do you know the way out?"

Harry began to wonder if this was the only elf that spoke English. He was certainly the youngest of his companions, so not the obvious choice for a spokesperson. Despite this he was keeping his composure well, and Harry hoped that he looked as composed on the outside. Inside terror was slowly building, and he started to worry that he'd been away from battle too long. Was it like riding a bike? You'd never forget how to read a battlefield and swing a sword? Or would he find himself rusty and slow and reckless?

"I know the way out of the tower," he replied, "from there…"

He thought back to the maps he'd read, maps that showed all of Mordor - from the Ash Mountains in the North and the Ephel Duath in the South and West. It was a land surrounded by mountains, and the only entrance was the Black Gates at Udon. Barad-dur was not set too deeply into Mordor as these things went, but it would not be an easy journey.

"I know the way," he finally answered, "theoretically."

The elf raised an eyebrow and repeated, with a rather sarcastic tone, "theoretically?"

"That's the best I can do," Harry sighed, "I don't know this place any better than you do."

"And yet all signs would suggest you live here," the elf countered.

"It's complicated," Harry snapped.

"Of course it is."

* * *

Haldir was young in elf terms, though he had traveled outside the Elven realm before, visiting with settlements of man enough to know the Common tongue. Which was more than his companions could say. Aithlin could speak enough to get by, perhaps, but his brothers Rumil and Orophin knew nothing of the human tongue. Olistir, Tarron and Elifain knew a little, but could not hold a conversation. As a younger elf, there were few things that allowed Haldir to feel superior over his brethren, and this was one of them.

They'd survived the journey to Mordor relatively unscathed, though remembering how the Orcs liked to paw them made him shudder, and the thought of the rotten food they fed them made bile rise up his throat. He did not know whether they'd been targeted in particular, or whether Sauron was just looking to get his hand on any elves he could find. Either way, he'd known it wouldn't matter. No one leaves Barad-dur alive.

And then the man had appeared. Young, he would hazard, by man's reckoning, though not a child. Long silky hair that was more Elven than the rugged way men wore it. An attractiveness that was almost Elven in nature. But he was certainly no elf, with his rounded ears and heavy footfall. No elves had magic of that nature.

They somehow snuck out of the tower unseen. Haldir had felt the magic slide over him, but did not believes it's worth til he saw the Orc eyes slide away from them. It seemed to cause the man some strain though, sweat starting to drip from his brow before he lifted the hood of his cloak and became invisible again. When they were far enough away from the tower the magic broke and the man removed the hood, looking around at the blackened volcanic landscape.

"You look like you've never seen it before," Haldir remarked, seeing the horror on the mans face.

"I haven't. I...I woke up, in the Tower. And since then I have never left. He always said it wasn't safe."

It took a second for Haldir to process what he'd said, and when he did he drew his dagger, and his brethren followed suit.

"Sauron told you it wasn't safe to leave? Sauron wished to keep you safe?! Who are you that the Dark Lord is so concerned by your welfare?"

The man sighed.

"My name is Harry, for all that means to you. And I don't know why he kept me here."

* * *

"We have two choices," Harry advised. "We can head for the Black Gates, or go through the Ephel Duath."

Harry and Haldir, who had finally given his name, had entered an uneasy truce. He knew the elf was not satisfied with his answers, but he had no others to give. On the other hand, Haldir conceded that Harry had made no move to harm them and was not known as an agent of Sauron. They had little choice but to work together.

Haldir conferred with the other elves in what Harry assumed was Sindarin. He'd seen a little of the elvish language in books, but Sauron had disliked him reading too deeply about elves and would not discuss them at any length. It was now obvious to Harry that he couldn't discuss them at length, because he'd have to keep making up more lies, which would probably get tiresome. Conversely, Haldir was more than happy to expand upon the evil that was Sauron at great length. If ever Harry had held a hope that he wasn't an irredeemable Dark Lord, Haldir happily shattered it.

"Aithlin knows more of Mordor than most." Haldir stated. "She feels that the Black Gates are too great a risk, but the path through Ephel Duath has been guarded by Shelob and her kin since Mordor began."

The way he said 'Shelob' made Harry feel uneasy, his lips curling in a way that Harry assumed his own did when he said 'Malfoy'.

"Who, or what, is Shelob?" Harry asked cautiously.

"A spider." Haldir replied simply. "A very large spider."

Harry got the impression that calling Shelob a large spider was similar to calling Aragog a large spider - a gross understatement so as not to make all who heard it call up in a ball of Arachnophobia driven terror. Harry liked giant spiders as little as the next sane person, but knew the chances of making the Black Gate across open land without being seen was slim. And at least the spider would likely just eat him rather than return him to Sauron.

"Ephel Duath is less guarded. Giant spider or not, if there's a way to escape it's there," Harry decided.

* * *

It was a long walk on foot to the mountains of Ephel Duath. Initially the elves kept themselves separate to Harry, taking their fitful sleeps in watches. Watching Mordor and watching him. When Harry slept he dreamed of light kisses and soft hands, a silky voice whispering love into his ear, eyes closed and back arching. He'd be content in his dream, warm and loved, and then he'd open his eyes to gaze lovingly at the noseless face of Voldemort.

He always woke up screaming.

It wasn't always Voldemort. Sometimes it was that first Orc he'd seen, leering and dribbling. He wasn't sure which was worst. Either way his mind was mixing up its monsters. He wondered if subconsciously he didn't want to see Sauron as the monster. He felt more free the further from the Tower he got, like a haze was continuously lifting, and the mindless way he loved Sauron was reducing mile by mile. But even a love created with magic left it's mark, and Harry supposed there was at the start where some slither of affection had been real. Just thinking about it made him sick.

After the first time he made sure to use a spell to soundproof himself so that his screaming neither woke his companions nor alerted any travelling Orc to their presence. He noticed after awhile that when he woke Haldir was watching him, expressionless, and whilst there was no telling what he was thinking it made Harry feel slightly safer to know someone was watching over him. Even if it was to make sure he didn't turn on them.

Harry would not have gone so far as to say he and the elf were friends, but they spoke on and off throughout their journey. Haldir could not believe that Harry knew so little of the War of the Ring and told the story bit by bit, from the time of Morgoth, to the creation and hiding of the Elven rings. An alliance of elves and men had been created, led by the Kings of the Elves and the King of Gondor. The dwarves were preparing their armies, and all the sentient beasts of Middle Earth had risen up. Soon they would lay siege to Mordor. Already they marched on their way. Harry thought of the golden ring on his once lover's hand and wished he'd bitten it off when he had the chance.

One day, he noticed that Haldir slept between him and elves, not quite with one or the other. The next, Haldir was beside him when he awoke gasping, fists clenched. Harry recoiled first, seeing only pale skin and fair hair. But then he caught the hurt look on Haldir's face and remembered where he was.

"I will not ask you of the horrors you saw in Barad-dur," Haldir said softly, "But it is clear that it eats at you. I would not see you suffer alone."

Harry felt almost like he was lying to the elf, for he had seen very few horrors in the Tower, and had mostly lived a calm and content life. Yet he did not know how to explain the years of living under Sauron's loving care, did not know which thoughts were his and which weren't. He did not know how deep Sauron's manipulation of his mind went. How could he explain that he had lain with him willingly, but that his mind had not been his own? That now the memories felt like someone else's, like he had been outside his body looking in, that there had been no aggression and no resistance and still he felt violated? Harry had suffered torture more than once during the Wizarding war, and he knew how to deal with physical pain. He did not know how to heal his mind.

"I don't know how to make it stop," Harry replied, sounding younger than he had in many years, "I don't know how to make it better."

"Some things only get better with time and distance," Haldir responded thoughtfully, "You will feel better when you've left his land, when you gaze upon something beautiful. This land brings all who enter it to despair, but there are lands that bring you hope."

"I've seen maps of other places," Harry stated, "But it's hard to imagine somewhere other than this. Where are you from?"

"Lothlorien," Haldir answered, "An Elven settlement near the Lonely Mountains."

"And does it inspire hope in you, Haldir?"

"Lothlorien inspires hope in all who see it," Haldir said with a small smile, one of the few Harry had seen. "It is the jewel of Elvendom, the most beautiful of places left on Middle Earth. My people will never stop fighting Sauron, for to let the darkness win is to let the light of Lothlorien fade. I do not wish to live to see such a day."

"Who leads your people in battle?"

"Our King, Amdir, who is both ancient and wise."

"It surprises me you do not fight with them. You do not seem the type to shy from battle," Harry remarked.

"I am not," Haldir admitted, "And I would have fought had my King allowed it. So many of my people have gone to war, he did not wish to lose us all. And as one of the youngest, my skill in battle is not as great as some of my kin."

"And your brothers?" He questioned.

Haldir laughed. "Forced to stay behind and watch over me, to their great disgust. Though between you and I, they are still rather hot headed for elves. Not much older than I, and certainly no more mature. They were tasked with patrolling the edge of our lands and chased some Orcs too far from the borders. I happened to be with them and we were ambushed."

Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for the brothers. Tasked to look after a sibling, and getting him kidnapped by Orcs. Not the greatest showing of responsibility. It must have shown on his face, for Haldir's softened.

"I do not blame them, and neither will our kin. Yet they will blame themselves, I do not doubt."

"It is a lesson they should learn," Aithlin stated, making them both jump. "They should have been more careful. They gambled with your life, and it is a gamble they may still lose. It is my turn to keep watch Haldir, sleep now."

With one last look at Harry, Haldir rolled himself into his cloak and went to sleep.

* * *

As the journey progressed, it became obvious that Aithlin knew more of the Common tongue than she had let on, and she joined Harry and Haldir in some of their conversations. Older than Haldir by a thousand years or so, she was able to fill in the gaps in history that Haldir had glossed over. He began to realise that the books in the Tower were very selective for obvious reasons, containing no mention of Sauron himself. Aithlin, however, knew him by other names, and these Harry had read before. He put further dark deeds to Sauron's name, and more tendrils of shadow fell away from his mind. Whatever illusion Sauron had used to entice him had finally failed, and Harry felt his mind clearer than he had in ages.

The other elves no longer slept quite so far away from him, their demeanor relaxing as they watched him speak to their kin. It lightened Harry's heart a little, but he wondered how long that would last if they really knew the truth. Despite this softening towards him, Orophin still looked at him with great distrust, and often Harry found Haldir arguing with his brother in Sindarin. He saw it was draining the younger elf, and he was sad to be the cause of it. Especially as he seemed to be spending ever more time with Haldir. The elf was thoughtful and calm, not quick to show emotion. Slow to laughter, but a comforting, steady presence beside him. Haldir told him tales of his childhood in Lorien, of their houses in ancient trees and beautiful songs. In the right mood, Haldir would regale him with the stress he'd caused his brothers as an elfling. He was a quick climber and a clever child, able to evade their searching for hours. Harry had found it hard at first to imagine Haldir as that child, but he soon saw a side of him that was teasing and playful, hidden beneath that stern visage. Like Harry, the elf had grown up in the shadow of a Dark Lord. A childhood shadowed in darkness leaves its mark.

With a sigh, Haldir walked over and sat beside him, Orophin going to sit with Rumil instead. His hand lightly brushed against Harry's, not for the first time, and Harry tried to ignore the little tingle up his arm.

"I see Orophin is still trying to convince you that I'm an evil genius, Hell bent on taking over the world?" Harry smiled sardonically as he said it, but Haldir did not even attempt a smile.

"He does not think you're evil Harry."

Harry knew that was 100% a lie.

"He just...worries. There is much unsaid about you. In dark times, we must be cautious."

Harry ran a hand through his frustratingly long hair.

"What is it you need to know? What will convince him I'm not going to steal you away for some nefarious purpose?"

Haldir looked at him intently, face serious and stern.

"You are shrouded in mystery. Give me something, something that will prove to him that you trust me. And that my trust in you is not misplaced."

Harry knew this moment would come eventually. They'd let him off so far, grateful for his help and more focused on the future. But they were nearing Shelob's lair now, and everyone was tense, jumping at every sound. Fear has always bred suspicion.

"Even your age is a secret Harry!"

Harry laughed. "It's not a secret, I just can't give you an answer. I was 22 years old when I arrived here. And I don't know how much time has passed since. Tens of years I'd guess, but little of that was waking. I've lived in half a dream, with no way to count the days. At first I thought I slept for hours, but the further I get from the Tower the more I wonder if it's months."

Haldir looked puzzled. "Why would he have you sleep?"

Harry leaned back, looked at him. "I think I slept when he was gone for a long time. Maybe he worried what I'd find if left on my own, or that I'd break free of his rules and venture outside. Maybe he just wanted to be the entirety of my life? I can't exactly ask him Haldir."

There was a look in the elf's eyes that made Harry's stomach churn, and confusion and wariness that he had not seen in days.

"You make it sound like he was protecting you," Haldir said slowly.

"He was. No, don't, not...not like that. Not...I do not think that he loved me. I do not believe he's capable of such a thing. But I think he wanted to possess me, though I don't know why. I was like a treasured possession, a pretty necklace, something to be looked after and marveled at, and put away when not needed."

Harry turned to Haldir, and tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"He took everything from me Haldir. My freedom, my personality, my mind. My love. Every bit of me feels tainted, every thought I have I distrust. My magic and everything about it, I buried in the deepest part of me so he'd never know. And I don't know if it'll ever be the same again."

He angrily wiped at a stray tear.

"I feel stupid. I feel fucking stupid for falling under his sway. I'm supposed to be powerful. I'm supposed to be better than this."

He turned away, but Haldir lightly grabbed his chin, turning him so their eyes met.

"You are not the first to fall to his power Harry, and you won't be the last. The best of the Elves were taken in by his charm, and now we all must pay the price. You are young, even by the standards of men. And he is old, older than any of us can say. Feel no shame, Harry, for you have escaped his claws, and that is more than most can say."

For the first time Harry felt substantially younger than Haldir, who despite his young elf age had lived several human lifetimes. He felt the elf's thumb stroke his cheek softly, and soft lips on his brow.

"Try to sleep Harry. I will speak to my brother, and then I'll return to watch over your dreams.

* * *

For the first time in the journey, Harry was holding the elder wand. Minor scuffles with wandering Orc had been solved with steel, and wandless magic if circumstances were sketchy. Harry remembered Aragog and his kin, however, and knew already that the chances of making it out of the cavern alive were slim. The cavernous tunnels were dark, too dark even for Elf eyes, so Harry created a small light and placed it in front of them to guide them through. He shivered from the cold, though the Elves were more immune to it. Every drip made him twitch, every cobweb in his hair made him shudder. The plan was agreed; no stopping, no splitting up, and as little noise as possible. Harry's notice- me-not spells would only cover up so much, and he'd left his own hood down, too worried about being left behind to be invisible.

Aithlin had warned them that the the tunnels were like a labyrinth, one that no one had a map to. There were undoubtedly many entrances and exits that no one knew of, but they needed only one. The chances of finding their way out would have been slim, but Harry had his wand and a Point Me spell, and so they weren't walking blind.

They walked through the dank, cold tunnels, over corpses of both orc and men. Just in earshot always scuttling, scuttling, scuttling. Harry didn't know if his mind was playing tricks on him or if they were surrounded, hundreds of spiders clicking their mandibles and waiting to devour him. His fear must have shown on his face because Haldir lightly brushed his hand.

"Do not give up already Dúr tinu," Haldir whispered, "There is still hope yet."

He had never been afraid of dark places, and he did not share Ron's absolute terror of spiders, had liked them, even, in his cupboard. But Harry felt dread grow with every step, as if the shadows themselves were seeping into his mind.

They followed the light and his wand, the elves far more gracefully than Harry, who stumbled over skeletons and rusted armour. At one point he fell and threw his hands out to catch himself, his left hand slipping into the rotten stomach of a dead Orc. He felt bile rise in his throat, but Rumil lifted him quickly, wiping his hand clean with the shirt of a long dead soldier.

"La fael," Harry said.

Rumil dipped his head in acknowledgment, and Harry realised that was the closest they'd come to a friendly exchange. The thought almost made him smile, but he figured smiling in Shelob's lair would be enough to mark him insane.

They walked for hours until Aithlin stopped, and spoke to the others.

"We are almost at the end Harry." Haldir translated "The air is getting clearer, the way ahead a little brighter."

Harry must have looked sceptical, and Haldir raised an eyebrow,

"You may have magic and a pretty face, but an elf's nose or eyes you do not." Haldir said smugly.

"Oh?" Harry enquired, "A pretty face? Well Haldir, why didn't you say so earlier?"

The elf blushed lightly, but his eyes said he enjoyed the teasing, and Harry felt his heart lighten a little. They were almost at the end now. Perhaps things were not so hopeless.

Then Shelob descended from above.

* * *

Harry struggled to count Shelob's kin, five, six, seven, all towering over him with mandibles like knives. He could see Haldir out the corner of his eye, fighting side by side with Orophin, daggers out, slashing and dodging. Harry had the Elder Wand in one hand and a sword in the other, slashing at whatever came near. He learnt quickly that stunners didn't work on the giant spiders, running through his simpler spells with little effect. He realised that there was no other option - he had neither the power nor the control right now to use complex battle magic. That left only the dark shortcuts, the spells that take from your soul what they can't from your magic.

"Avada Kedavra!"

One of Shelob's kin went down with a screech, legs flailing. The Killing Curse had always brought immediate death, but this was horrifying to watch, long legs slowly curling in as the spider screeched and screeched, fighting the magic that was killing it slowly. So entranced was Harry by this that he didn't see the spider behind him. He felt a cut on his shoulder, then saw Haldir leap past him, dagger in each hand. He saw one of the elves, whose name suddenly escaped him, falling to the floor, blood spewing from his neck. He gripped hold of the Elder Wand and screamed to the elves:

"Make for the exit, now!"

Haldir turned, "But Harry-"

"Take your kin and go!" He ordered. "I'll meet you out there."He didn't stop to watch them leave. He pointed his wand, drew a complicated shape in the sky then "Fiendfyre!"

A fiery serpent escaped his wand with a mind of its own, chasing the spiders in the cavern. It was smaller than he'd usually conjure, no dragons or chimeras to help it on it's way, but it should be enough to give them time. He could feel the magic's attention turn to the elves, sentient in a way that some dark magics were. He enforced his will, and turned it back to the spiders, until all the spiders were dead or scattered.

But he was feeling weak, weaker than he should even after such a spell. His head was blurry, and dizzy, his eyes clouded, he felt the cut on his shoulder and it burned and burned and burned. Shakily he lifted his finger to his nose and knew.

Poison.

He stumbled to his knees, the Elder Wand falling out of his hand and rolling away into the dark. He tried to blink the mist from his eyes but it was encroaching ever further as he heard the scuttling, scuttling, scuttling.

Then he was rising into the air, surrounded by a silk cocoon, and he figured it was okay to sleep now.

The elves had gotten out. Haldir had gotten out. That's what mattered most.

A/N: I know Sauron had lost his ability to present a fair face by this point in LOTR canon. Pretend he can manage it in his tower, as his magical stronghold.


End file.
